


What is Enough

by Findarato



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Angst, Dark Thoughts, Emotional Porn, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Okita's Route, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Souji being Souji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/pseuds/Findarato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t ask for someone to heal him.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t try.</p><p> </p><p>If fate is cruel, it can also play another hand, and it gave him something better than a cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: **薄桜鬼 is not my creation; it belongs to IF/DF, and character designs belong Kazuki Yone.  
> ****
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>  **Spoilers:** Souji's route in the main game/Reimeiroku/Zuisouroku (Memories of Love). One spoiler for Hakumyu Okita-hen.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Timeframe:** A little after Kaoru and Koudou's deaths.  
>  New note: What is Enough now has a fanmix, courtesy of [Riana1](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Riana1/). Mix is [here](http://8tracks.com/riana-one/silence-has-a-sound) and I love it very much /o/
> 
>  
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>  **Warnings:** Some angst, emotional porn…my usual stuff, Souji himself, blood. Honestly I think I might need to include a trigger warning for dark, messy thoughts (nothing suicidal).
> 
>  
> 
> May or may not be slightly AU. Depends on your opinion of what Souji says in Zuisouroku about being a married a couple and acting like it, because he's been holding himself back. Fff. Btw see if you catch the Hakumyu reference.
> 
>   
>  **Sort of important note:**   
> 
> 
> I actually looked at this fic and wondered if I put too much angst in (the second part). If I made it too dark, too messy. If I delved maybe too deep. While writing this, it felt weirdly like a mission. Is it catharsis or digging at scars? I'm not even sure. I tried to edit and cut, but most of what I originally wrote stayed in.
> 
>  
> 
> Writing Souji makes me all sorts of anxious because I don't want to trivialise his issues, but neither do I want to exaggerate them. Angst and hurt/comfort is actually fucking hard to write because it's balance, and half the time I worry about overdoing it. To say this fic didn't get personal would be a lie, but neither did I want to seem like I'm projecting, or, to borrow an rp term, soulbonding with him (soulbonders think certain fictional characters are actually them, they emulate them in RL, try to be like them in everything, etc. Basically people who try too hard) because neither are my intentions.
> 
>  
> 
> It's important to note that a lot of Souji's reactions I got from Zuisouroku/Memories, not the main game. In Memories, it definitely shows more of the side that he doesn't like people seeing. There's vulnerability, anxiety, fears, which he shares and which Chizuru picks up on. Souji…has a shitton of problems, and they didn't begin when he had tuberculosis, or when the Shinsengumi was first formed. They came from the time he was a child, when he lost his parents. Problems like that aren't just fixed because you found your soulmate. Problems don't go away in minutes or hours. They take months and years. And that's my reasoning.
> 
>  
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> …I probably talk too much in my notes. And probably worry too much.
> 
>  
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> All I can say is that there an effort, and the effort was to write believable fanfic about a canon with amazing, realistic characters.

* * *

****

**_What is Enough_**

_You don't need another human being to make your life complete, but let's be honest. Having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn't see them as disaster in your soul but cracks to put their love into is the most calming thing in this world._

  
**—** **Emery Allen**  


He doesn't know how long he holds her.

Long enough that they both sink to their knees and she's in his lap again. She cries, stops, and cries some more. He won't tell her she can't. Besides, it isn't as if he's actually dry-eyed himself. He thinks about Kondou-san and his heart goes places he doesn't want it to go. She shudders; whether from tears or the night chill, he can't tell, but it distracts him from his thoughts to curl his frame more tightly against hers.

Chizuru finally falls asleep, fisted hands slipping from his clothes and her head lying on his shoulder. Souji waits a little longer before he arranges her in a neat heap, rummaging through his stuff and finding a blanket. Her head he pillows with his jacket, and then he rises to build a fire.

Next comes the harder part.

He doesn't have a shovel. But he finds a strong branch and starts digging. It might take him until daybreak, it might take him even longer. Nevertheless, he wants to at least have holes ready, when she wakes up. So she can say her farewells. He's considered burying them before she woke up; yet that seemed rude.

It's not like he had a chance to say his goodbyes.

She deserves that.

So he'll will his coughs at bay for as long as possible as he carries out this task. Honestly, he has no great love for Nagumo Kaoru, but a brother is a brother.

…right, brothers.

Souji manages to keep Hijikata out of his mind for a few hours by concentrating on how wood scrapes against dirt and grass, and the crickets and the other sounds of the night. Every so often, he'll turn to look at her, sleeping underneath the shelter of a tree, the edge of her face lit by firelight. Even in sleep, she looks troubled.

Things did happen rather quickly. Actually, quick didn't even cover it. His own weariness is starting to catch up to him, his muscles sore and hands beginning to ache, but he doggedly keeps on. As the killer of her brother, even for all the right reasons, he ought to do this. The last penance, the last debt. It will make up for those he cannot bury, those he cannot follow anymore.

Sweat drips into his vision. Or is it tears? He bites his own lip and stabs the branch a little too hard; it snaps and he nearly loses his balance. He curses, softly.

"Okita…san?"

The branch breaking had been louder than he'd expected. "You can go back to sleep," he calls out as he continues digging.

"But…what are you doing?" She sits up, the blanket sliding off her shoulders; her vision must've been blocked by the fire, because her eyes now widen. "Oh…" Her throat works, and something glimmers in her eyes, but she still gets up to her feet.

"I was hoping to finish before you got up. But," he holds up the broken piece of branch, "that didn't work. Sorry I woke you."

"That's all right." She smoothes her clothes and pushes her bangs out of her face. "I'll help."

_No_ , he wants to say. Instead, he says, "Are you sure? I don't have any proper tools for…this. You might get blisters on your hands."

"What about your hands?"

"They're fine." He holds one out. "See?" Calluses from years of swordwork cover his palm and fingers. It's only his stamina that is lacking.

"But you must be tired."

"Not really." He's had worse days. "I'm halfway done, I think."

Odd how it's easier to talk about something if you didn't directly refer to it. But only just. He watches her gaze wander to the two bodies that are a little distance off. When she looks at him, he's struck by the look in her eyes. It's a resolved look, the one that always got to him. You don't deny someone's resolve; it would be a betrayal of yourself and your own resolve.

"I want to help."

"I'll find some more branches." Stretching his arms, he kicks at the ground as he searches, wondering if it'd be really terrible if he breaks them directly off a tree…

But eventually he locates two branches that are hopefully sturdier than his previous one, and they begin digging. He admits he doesn't feel like himself. There's been a disconnection, a start and stop; he wouldn't call himself changed, but more like something's been drawn out of him. Something different. He just can't place his finger on it, so he mulls it over as they shovel away.

**.**

When it is done and over with, it's a cloudy, hazy dawn. Two mounds are before them, and he nearly rubs his eyes, but his hands are covered in dirt and blood. Chizuru looks no better; she lost the string she binds her hair with; there are smudges on her face, hands, and clothes, and the shadows underneath her eyes are dark.

"Chizuru-chan?"

However, he calls her name, she looks at him with a faint smile pushing at her lips. It's quite familiar, if not a little tired and numb. They're probably both a little too worn for feeling much.

"That water Koudou mentioned. Do you have any possible ideas where it might be?"

Her eyelids lower as she thinks. "I think I might. I remember playing by a spring. It should be this way…"

Sure enough, only some paces away, there is the spring, a quiet bubbling thing that has a nice sheen to it. He sticks his hands in, sucking in his breath as iciness stabs his nerves. He scrubs as fast as he can, watching as Chizuru yelps a little at the cold, hurriedly washing her face and hands the way squirrels do.

He smiles a little at the thought.

Perplexed, she looks at him.

"It's cold, isn't it?"

"It's not so bad. It wakes me up." She splashes her face again, breathing loudly through her mouth. As she wipes her face with her sleeve, she looks at him.

"What?"

"You've got a lot of…blood on your face."

"Oh." He reaches up, but when he blinks, she's in front of him.

"Let me." Chizuru soaks a sleeve in the water, squeezes it out, and reaches up to dab his face. The fabric brushes over his left temple, swipes his cheek, and rubs over the side of his nose.

"—you've done that a lot of times, haven't you?" Just how many times, he wonders, during the time he was recovering from the silver bullets. "Are you making it a habit?"

"Well, I—" She finishes with his forehead and leans back, blushing a lightly. "I don't mind doing it for you, Okita-san."

He tilts his head at her. "Really?"

"Yes. Then and now, and whenever you need me to." She washes her sleeve again, her gaze still meeting his.

"Heh. You keep doing things for me."

She thinks for a moment. "Well, what if I like doing things for you?"

_Damn_. "You have to at least give me a chance to return the favour, right? I owe you a lot, from way back up to now." He runs his fingers through his hair and finally sits down, so that they're actually eye-to-eye and she doesn't have to crane her neck. "You'll let me, right? Do things for you."

"Hai." She smiles a little wider this time, head tilted to one side.

He suddenly wants a way to capture that smile, stop time, keep it the foremost of his mind. It's not too hard for him to suddenly tug her so that she's in his arms again, because he's found that she fits nicely in his arms, all warmth and love and no malice. It doesn't matter that her hair is tangled, or if they're both covered in dirt, and there's still blood on him. They've both lost so much, but they've gained each other.

"I'm going to keep making it up to you as long as I can," he whispers against the curve of her ear. "Is that all right?"

He knows he is being repetitive, but he wants to hear it. Over and over until he can stop questioning it and simply believe in the truth that she has offered him from the start.

"Yes, it's all right." Her hands find his sides before they slide up, touching his shoulder blades. "I won't say no to it." Her voice cracks and she squashes her nose into his shoulder.

"Good." It's odd how he, usually so quick with his responses and comebacks, can't piece together all the thoughts in his head when it comes to Chizuru. Yes, he knows how to make her blush and fidget and sometimes stun her, but when he wants to tell her that he loves so many things about her, he can't seem to. It just all seemed too inadequate, too little, too unqualified.

It's definitely easier for him to hold her as the rest of the world wakes up and goes about its business. His time is short, but he least he can have a eternity when he cups her face, looks into the depths of her eyes, and shares the same breath she takes when they kiss.

It scares him, but only enough that his heart races and something tightens inside him, and he forces it away. This is Chizuru—she won't hurt him, won't betray, won't lie to him. Her presence will always remain a sort of strength. She's allowed to be near him, touch him, and stay with him. And his shortened life? It just means he has to give it all to her, now. Not the future. He'll make the most of it, he'll try—no, he'll do it. He promises—

His vision is spotted with flashes of light when he finally pulls away. His eyes are wet, he's shaking, but so is she. Still, she adjusts his shirt, and tells him they should go back so that he can put his jacket back on.

"Your hands are cold," she tells him. "I don't want you to get sick."

"Ah—sorry." He curls his fingers in apology. "Mm, we'll go back."

His heart slows down as they walk side-by-side, fingers laced together. Her lips are more red than pink, and he wants to trace them, to feel them burn as hotly as his.

But for right now, this is enough.

**.**


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings now apply.

* * *

They eat a little, and then they sleep. Afternoon finds them huddled underneath the same tree, because the cloudy morning became a rainy day and the rain woke up them up. The blanket rests on their heads, and for the most part they're sheltered except for his feet (that's what he gets for being tall). At least it's not a cold rain. This one smells like humidity and forest, not a depressingly drenching downpour. He watches the droplets fall from branches and twigs, collecting in puddles and mini-rivulets.

By now, they ought to do something about the state of their clothes. They ought to be figuring out their lives, and the mundane—where were they going to live, what are they going to do about money, and so forth. But scratch that. He's never gotten the chance to sit in the rain with her, so now is the opportunity. There's time enough yet for worrying.

Souji is staring out and trying to think of something to say when Chizuru jerks a little. "What?" He looks at her, concerned.

"Just rain." She wipes her cheek and inches closer to him. The blanket is damp and becoming heavy and less sheltering. "I don't think this is going to work after an hour…"

"I think this will stop by then." But even as he looks up, a raindrop hits him in the eye and he yelps.

"Are you all right?"

"Hm, I don't know." He blinks rapidly and rubs his eyelid ruefully. "That stung a little."

"Let me take a look at it."

He obliges, leaning down to her level. The pad of her thumb presses down on his skin, light and careful.

"It looks normal," she says, pulling away. "What about your eyesight?"

"My eyesi—"

Suddenly, the branch right over their heads releases the tension it's holding and they're showered by hard droplets of water that plot loudly against their skin.

Chizuru yanks the blanket off her head, looking exasperated. "Not even an hour…"

"At least it isn't cold."

"At least." She tries to pull her wet hair out of her face. "But we might get sick…"

"We'll figure that out later." Later he'll actually have talk to other people, buy things they need. Right now, there's just them and he wants to savour it. "I can still keep you warm, even if I can't keep you dry."

She mumbles something as she bumps her face to his chest.

"Ee, what's that?"

"You like holding me, don't you…"

He blinks and grins as he suddenly thinks of terrible things to say. "I like _you_. So that means I like doing a lot of things with you. Like holding you—" here, he presses a kiss to his nose, "—kissing you—" a finger runs along the underside of her jaw, "—and touching you."

Admittedly, it's still a highlight in his life whenever she flushes from face to neck. She always lets out this sort of strangled sound before she covers her face or moves away. These days, it's less of the latter. Instead, she clutches his arms and shakes him a little, facial expression forming into something that could only be a pout.

"Okita-saaaan…"

"Hai~?"

"You're impossible sometimes."

"I know." He rests his chin on top her head, uncaring of how wet it is.

"But, I still love you, no matter what you say or do."

His eyes flicker; he moves away so that he can look at her. "Say that again."

"Ah—?"

"Say what you just said before."

"…I still love you, no matter what you say or do."

Words had a taste, and her words always tasted like honey. She said the things that he sometimes knew, but hearing them out loud confirmed it, made it more real. He spent so much time trying to gain it—love and appreciation. Yes, it was there, but in between resent and longing, he felt lacking. Lonely. Lost. His life is hardly set right now, hardly perfect because of what has been handed to him, but hearing words like that confirmed that he still has something to live for.

"Okita-san?"

Her voice brings him back. "I was thinking. About you." Idly, he runs his fingers through her hair. Despite everything, it still carries a hint of tea and flower, two scents that he associates with her. Not even dirt or blood could mask it.

"I think a lot about you, too."

"Really? What do you think about when you think about me?"

Her finger traces one of the embroidered koi on his jacket. "How kind you are."

A few months ago, he would've laughed. Today, his mouth tips in a half-grin, full of wryness. "You give me too much credit, Chizuru-chan."

Him, kind? Souji doesn't feel much over old enemies that he's killed—he doesn't even remember their names. The only time guilt actually pushed at him was that time after Kondou had been shot; Chizuru had come after him and told him she wanted him to do the right thing. Him, the sword of the Shinsengumi, who killed without partiality. He wouldn't call himself jaded; killing always gave him a rush and heady sense of power, but he didn't lose sleep over his actions. Some people had to die. It just…always made other people upset. Or sad. Or frustrated. He's disappointed Kondou, disappointed Hijikata (though he didn't care as much about that)…

"Think about all the times you protected me."

It'd never been about disappointing Chizuru. He hadn't understood it at first, her concern. Join the rest of the people worrying and pitying him, thinking he's immature or careless, judging him and looking disgusted when he comes back bloody. There's actually few people that he's comfortable with in fighting alongside with. Saitou is one, for their understanding started years back. Otherwise most people held him back.

When it comes to Chizuru, it also wasn't about holding him back, or judging him, or telling him what to do. Rather, she's a reminder. She made him confront things about himself that he thought he knew, but really did. She brought out feelings that turned his stomach and clenched his jaw, but they were truths.

"Is that why you chose me—for my kindness?" Kindness. He still can't exactly see it. There's plenty of others who were kind. He'd bet she would be quite happy with Heisuke, maybe Saitou…probably Hijikata. Anyone but him. He's a dying, stubborn killer who's to be used by the Shinsengumi. Nothing glamorous about that. Nothing that screamed "I'm the type you'd fall for or marry." He's not good for anyone, much less himself. One foot in the grave and all that.

The metaphors are really terrible, though. Especially when she puts her hands against the sides of his face and shifts herself closer. When did the boundaries between them disappear? Was it when she fell on top of him, or when she brought him okayu, or when she tended his injuries? Or did it start from the time she was at Ikedaya and she threw a dish at an overpowered opponent?

"I chose Okita-san because he's Okita-san." You had to admire a girl who speaks her mind even if she's blushing head to toe and her voice is muffled by the rain still falling about them. "Everything about him is dear to me."

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"Even though I killed your brother and I couldn't prevent your father from dying?"

She shakes her head. "I don't hate you for any of those things. Kaoru…he was too far gone. And my father…my father wasn't the man I thought he really was, but I'm just glad in the end he was still a father. Maybe if I had found him earlier, there would've been another chance. But then maybe I would've wished I knew my brother earlier, and prevented it." Her fingers fall against his shoulders, curled, like birds perching. "A lot of maybes, but I don't want to live in regret. I have _you_. And having you is better than good enough."

"…careful, Chizuru-chan," He breathes out her name, thoughts grasping her words and committing them to memory. "If you're trying to make me love you more, it's working and I want to hold myself back even less."

If he stops to think about what she says, he might overwhelm himself. He contents himself with rubbing her cheek with his thumb. Both of them are nearly soaked through, especially her with only two layers. Pink and white do not hide much; it all sticks to skin and reveals the line of her hip, the edge of her thigh, how _tight_ everything looks.

He tears his eyes away to look at her face instead.

"I…" Her lips part, tongue swiping at one corner as she looks up at him. "I don't mind it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Eyes not leaving hers, he lightly runs his fingertips down her throat. "Is this all right?" What he starts, he plans to finish. He's wanted to do this they kissed by the spring, but it hadn't been the right time. Now, however…

"Yes." Her voice is soft.

His pointer finger reaches fabric and he pushes it all a little lower, stopping at the top of her sternum. "This?" His tone matches hers in volume.

"…yes."

When he hooks his finger to one side and tugs, her breathing speeds up, but otherwise, she stays still. "And this?"

She nods erratically, swallowing and fidgeting her hands that still rested on his shoulders. "You can continue…I'll let you know if, if I—" A soft exhale. "If I don't like it."

"I don't want to hurt you." It's not like he's ever been serious. He's never had an interest in most people, never really went on those Shimabara sprees. A few dalliances, nothing that went really far. Commitment is daunting.

"You won't." She squeezes his shoulders. "If I tell you to stop, it won't be because you hurt me."

Seized by an urge, he decides to give up speaking in order to grip her arms and seal her lips with his. Everything's a little slippery because of the rain, and he sucks the moisture from her lower lip. She sighs against him, and he kisses her harder.

_This is how I feel—can you feel it, too?_

Chizuru's fingers clench his jacket as her breathing accelerates, but then she finds her pace and kisses back, chin bumping into his. She tastes like sadness, a little. When they pause for air, she's rubbing her eyes and trying not to cry, her other hand touching her lips gingerly.

"What's wrong?" He catches her chin between his fingers, eyes scanning her face. Maybe he bit her or kissed too hard?

"Nothing's wrong. I just…I feel—" She draws a steadying breath. "I'm happy. You make me so happy. But when I think about my father…my brother…I wish they could've been as happy as I am. Is it wrong that I feel happy?"

Souji curls his fingers into her hair, hands around the back of her head as he bumps their foreheads together. "You did your best to convince them. You were really great, you know?" He wets his lips even though the action is unnecessary because of the rain still showing upon them. "So you deserve this. You deserve to be happy."

The words stick in his throat. Heavens know just how long she's tried to tell him the same, and here he is, returning those words to her.

But she hasn't killed people like he did. She didn't choose to become rasetsu. She didn't mess up the way he did. She's beauty, saneness, comfort; touched by grievance and bad luck, and now when it's all over, she deserved to be happy. It's…it's different from him.

Right?

She looks up at him, and it seems like her gaze can see into his thoughts.

She knows.

"Okita-san—" Her hands hook into against his arms. "Will I make you happy, too?"

"You already do." Even before he knew it. "You always have. Just…" Scattered thoughts and unformed words. "I'm not good at this, sorry."

"No, you're fine."

"Really?"

When her fingers touch his face, he finds they're warm and as such, that warmth seeps into his skin and reaches deep. "Really." She says the word with finality.

"…I'm going to kiss you again." That's the best defence his mind can come up with.

So he does. Over and over until he forgets they're outside and it's raining and their clothes are soaked and muddy. His fingers hastily peel away her clothes until he can mould his fingers to her bare shoulders, marvelling at how soft her skin is.

At first, she clutches fabric to her chest, until he showers her jaw and throat and shoulders with kisses. Her hands fall away, like unsaid permission, and he is free to leave his kisses almost everywhere, drawing lines and curves with his lips. She doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands, and he doesn't give her time to think about that. No, he wants to caress every inch of her; where rain has touched, and where it hasn't touched. It's slightly tricky business and he pauses to fling the blanket underneath them so they're not touching the ground, but that's only a few seconds before he returns to what he is doing. Her back is so small, delicate when compared to his, but she's only delicate in appearance, neither at heart nor in spirit. He feels her spine arch, her chest heave; her voice is breathy and not exactly loud, but neither is it quiet. It says incoherent things, yet it also says his name, _Okita_ - _san_ —

"Say Souji."

_I want to hear it._

They've known each other long enough. She's earned the right to his first name, a hundred times over.

She looks up at him through strands of hair clinging to her face and neck. "Souji."

It sounds like it belongs there. It belongs to her. He belongs to her.

_I'm hers._

He quickens his moves, untying the rest of her clothing. It's convenient, actually, that she still dressed in male clothing. No complicated obis or extra layers. The only thing that was slightly annoying was the binding over her chest, which she has to help him with. His palms slide against her thigh, drawing a whimper from her, but her hands are on his shoulders, digging through layers and he knows her eagerness matches his. She giggles when his fingers tickle the soles of her feet, and then sighs his name when he hooks his hand underneath the curve of her backside.

It's seems so commonplace to say it, but she is breathtaking, in more ways than one.

How she looks.

How she's letting him see her.

How they're here, together.

His pulse is fast and so is his breathing. But he's not wheezing and this is fine. He's fine. He shakes water out of his hair even as he keeps his hands busy, one on her back for support, and the other one free to wander. And wander it does until it stops, for it finds what makes her shiver and clutch at him more fervently until she ends up wrapping her arms around his neck. Her chin digs into the side of his neck; this isn't exactly comfortable but neither of them cares. He feels and hears her inhale and exhale, breath against his ear; he finds himself breathing in the same way, for it makes him feel even closer to her. She curls into him and the little gasps and moans encourage him and let him know he's going in the right direction. Her hip bumps against his and he nearly falters, yet he still presses his fingers against her skin, over and over until she convulses and nearly chokes him as she hunches against his frame, his name garbled and broken in her voice.

He can make her happy. He can do things for her. She wants him and needs him, and as she sags against him, he has to close his eyes and embrace her. It's almost strange; they're both shaking and trying to gulp as much air as possible, and all he has done is given her pleasure. Himself, he's still wound up tightly and his muscles are tense, but he's happy, too.

"S-Souji." She whispers, voice reverberating against his skin. "Souji."

"That's my name, yes."

She unwraps her arms, wincing a little. Her cheeks are still red and he has the urge to kiss them again, but he waits.

"Aren't you…we…that wasn't it, was it?"

"What, you want more? That wasn't enough?" He's not being serious; the exaggerated raise of his eyebrows gives that away.

Laughter bursts out of her as she presses hands to her face. "No, no—I-I liked it." She helplessly giggles for few more moments before she can look at him. "But what about you?"

He hesitates, mind taking several different routes and probably passing through his face before he chooses one and slides a smile onto his face. "What about me?" False innocence.

"Okita- _san._ "

"Are we back to last name basis again, Chizuru-chan?"

"You're teasing me…"

He twirls a strand of her hair on his finger. "Only because it's fun and you get a really cute expression on your face when I do it."

"But this isn't fair."

She's not letting this go, is she? "No, I think it's fair."

"But—"

"Shh." Resting a finger on his lips, he suddenly pulls her up even though she shrieks and tries to yank some of her clothing back on. "I have a better idea. I haven't done it since I was a kid, so—"

Dragging her by the hand, he manages to yank off his boots and socks without falling over and then they're out in the open rain, splashing up water and mud.

"Okita-san!" She holds her kimono together, not that it conceals much; wet fabric is handy like that, plus she has no belt or hakama on keep things in place. Her other hand is still grasped in his. "What are you doing?"

"Close your eyes and tilt your head back," he instructs, "Then open your mouth and breath. You'll feel like you're at the top of a very high hill, maybe even a mountain, the highest point in the world…"

After making sure she follows his directions, he closes his eyes. Rain hits his face indiscriminately, dripping down his face and neck. He counts how long he holds each breath and how long it takes for him to expel all the air out from his lungs. Standing next to her, their hands joined, he could almost imagine himself flying.

Souji manages to breathe few times before it triggers a coughing spell, and the illusion is gone. He lets go of her hand to kneel down and cover his mouth as pain shatters and touches every part of him, blackening the edges of his vision.

Between bloodlust and tuberculosis, he can't actually decide which is worse.

Maybe this. There is no cure for this.

She presses hands to his shoulder and back, saying something but he can't hear it over the ringing in his ears. He can't even see her—he's closed his eyes and there's brilliant flashes of light, like his own personal fireworks to a pity party. Blood coats his throat and tongue and he gags. He doesn't mind if someone else's blood splashes on him, but his own is poisonous. Out of habit he nearly shoves her away, nearly tells her to not get too close…

Except he finds her hand on his back a distraction from his heaving, a slow repeated action of tracing his shoulder blades that lets him concentrate until seconds turn to minutes and he can finally straighten up. He turns his head to spit out blood because he's gotten tired of swallowing it, holding out his hand so that the rain can wash it away.

"It's fine, it passed," he says, finally looking at her and grinning. He hopes there's no blood in his teeth. "It's not as bad as some other times."

Her expression is a mixture of distress, fear, and concern. He remembers once how he had coughed up so much blood he wonders if he lost half a lung in the process as he stared at his hands, his clothes, the bedding. The feeling he might've died then and there, gone in a pile of blood and weakness. This incident he's sworn Yamazaki to secrecy, with death threats and veiled insults and one unsubtle comment about Hijikata.

Today, this isn't as bad. He's on his feet (barely), holding himself up (he's leaning against Chizuru), and still breathing (wheezing).

The rain finally rids his hand of blood and he lets it drop to his side with a sigh. Her silence is a little worrying, and it makes him want to apologise.

"You know that it isn't…going to go away. Maybe if I became rasetsu before getting sick, things would've been different." If maybe they threw caution to the wind, and if ochimizu had no repercussions, and if the whole of Shinsengumi became a group of rasetsu, he wouldn't have to count his days.

Stupid, useless thoughts crowd his head and he twists his lip at them. "But you chose me, and I'll do my damn best to not make you cry. I'll fight this, harder than I did before."

He should make a list of all the things he has to do before his time is up, things to fulfil to her. So far, he's only been able to give her tastes and hints. It's not going to be enough, is it? His throat stings and his chest hurts, reminders of mortality and the betrayal of his body. And to think only minutes ago, he had been smiling.

Her fingers swipe at the side of his mouth; he jerks away in surprise. "Don't—!"

_Don't touch it, that's contaminated._

She flinches and he realises he shouted, because sheer habit is the tendency to shove away people. How many times, exactly, has he told her to stay away? His pain will become hers and it will drag her down with him and he doesn't want that.

"Don't," he repeats, softly, as he scrapes his mouth and chin with a rough hand, looking everywhere except at her. Useless rain, not getting rid of everything. He kicks at the splatters in the grass, viciously. Every cough, every fever, every chill, every weakness—they remind him just how powerless he is when it comes to what his life's handed him. He's sick. He's so sick of being sick and sick of his thoughts narrating all the awful things about himself and pointing out everything that needs work, sick of being aware of his body and how it's failing and sick of disappointing her—

"Souji." She wraps her arms around his waist and his head falls against her shoulder.

That's all she says.

He closes his eyes and grinds his teeth together. It takes him seconds to properly breath again, but minutes to unclench the clamp on his heart.

"Normal people leave when I tell them to."

"Neither of us is normal."

Irrefutable words. "…I want you to be happy." She's going to cry when he dies. It could be next week. Maybe a month. Or if they're lucky, a few years.

"—I _am_ happy." Mostly. Seeing her happy or blushing makes him smile. Something like how every time he made Kondou-san proud, he'd get a pat on the head or words of praise. But then it made every disappointment more cutting. His first kill. The other kills. The moment Kondou knew that he was rasetsu.

_Oi, I got yelled at. Heh._

_Heh_.

Honestly, making other people happy and getting acknowledged brought plenty of joy and satisfaction. But he can't even do that anymore. Didn't even say his good-byes. Kondou-san probably died disappointed in him and his choices…

That's what hurts more than failing to save him. Because if he'd simply failed, Kondou would offer that smile of his and tell him it's all right because he tried his best. Resorting to ochimizu, however, wasn't the greatest choice in his life. Probably one of the worst, right up there with cutting his first guy down because he insulted Kondou. You can only live so long on acknowledgements and doing things until you wear yourself out. At some point, you wonder if there's more, or if that's just it. Pleasing people until they grow tired of you, and you find another person you can keep happy.

And now he's doing the same thing with Chizuru, and he can't even call it a habit. It's…it's a part of him. Some god built it into him and fate fucked up the mechanisms. He doesn't even know where to start to explain or apologise for that thing. Apologising for being Okita Souji? But how can he do that when she says she chose him for being him? _She just said it only half an hour ago why is this so hard?_

She called him kind. She sees what he doesn't see, or refuses to see. She's grappled with his worst and she's staying.

If thoughts could kill, he'd let them kill him. A nice, fast death.

"Ne, do you know?" The words drip from his mouth like the rain that falls. "Weak, stupid people die. They fall to the predators. They're heedless and angry. And I cut them all down. But guess what?" He grasps folds of her kimono in his hands and shakes her. "I can't kill this. I can't kill me."

Because despite awful, despite blood, despite bad luck, despite pain, regret, every disgusting feeling that the human soul can churn out and lay on his body, Souji wants to live. He wants to believe her perspective of him. He wants to be happy without feeling like his happiness is dependant on another's feelings. "But I'm not good at this."

When he was little, he was most aware of loneliness. It wasn't the pain of being beaten or going hungry. It wasn't the insults. It wasn't even about his parents dying and his sister leaving him. It was loneliness and its pangs that shot through him and kept him awake. And it followed him everywhere. Every laugh, every smile that Kondou and Hijikata shared—something he couldn't partake of.

"Wakatteru?" Him. This. Everything.

She's not a mind-reader. If she were, this would be so much easier. But then he wouldn't have shown her so much of him if she had that ability.

" _Hai_." Her hands cradle his head. "I do."

And he believes she isn't just saying it for him to hear. It's not empty solace. Chizuru is real and vivid and in his world of painted red, she is all the other colours that he missed. There's _knowing_ something, like an itch in the mind, and then there's _understanding_ , which is more like breathing or your heart beating and it's already there.

He's not exactly crying, but he might as well be. Things are sore and mental exhaustion hangs over him and the only difference is that she is here, holding him up. She doesn't ask him anything, doesn't ask anything of him, doesn't offer suggestions and then stand aside.

Chizuru knows exactly when he needs her.

As he finally raises his head, watery eyes and all, her eyes fasten onto to his, overflowing and it's like the rain transfers her feelings to him. Who knew a gentle-hearted girl could have a steel will and become his fascination and comfort? He clasps his hands over hers, the only warning she gets before he kisses her. He is unable to do much else. She responds in kind, her lips soft and firm at the same time. She tilts her head and he follows, desperately.

"I love you," she says as she stops their actions with a careful shoulder squeeze. "I love you, Souji."

His mouth twists, the lump in his throat tight now.

This time, she leads him by the hand, out of the rain. They sit down, but before he can attempt to say anything else, she wrests the front of his jacket to kiss him. It's a first and he makes a muffled sound of surprise. The contact between them tingles like oversensitivity, and he parts his mouth to let her tongue press to his.

But it's when she lays the palm of her hand against his chest that startles him to move away, breathing loud and harsh in his ears as he stares.

Desire, matching his. Raw, needy want, but coupled with her usual sweetness that breaks him more than violence does.

"I want—" she curls her fingernails; they dig into fabric, "I want to love you."

"Chizuru-chan—"

She's undoing his buttons with the same feverish haste he's shown before in removing her clothes, pushing his jacket off and working on the shirt underneath before her words properly register in his mind. Short of hyperventilating, his fingers shake as he tries to help her along as he flings his arms out when a sleeve gets stuck. When he tries to put his hands on her, she pushes them down while clicking apart his belt buckle, and that's when he stops her.

"Wait." He closes his eyes against sudden panic that suffocates him. Contrary to popular assumptions by people who don't see much of who he is beyond "sarcastic, happy-go-lucky bastard of a killer," he hates it when people try to get in his good graces. He hates fake. He hates his own insufficiency.

Here is someone who didn't use Kondou to get close to him, wasn't fake, and didn't think him insufficient.

She loves him. She wants him.

So he opens his eyes and inhales. His secrets and weaknesses—they're safe with her. She won't throw them back in his face and tear him apart and leave him bleeding. She sees his thoughts and lets him think, but she also doesn't let him drown in them.

"You can do that," he whispers as he messes his hands into her hair as he leans back, dragging her down with him. One side of her kimono slips and he grips her shoulder.

_I'm yours._

That's another truth.

Souji expects something fast, like how she tore off his clothes (he makes a note to bring this up in the future), but instead Chizuru smiles and rubs the rain out of her face before she trickles light fingertips down his chest and sides. Like petals, her lips brush over a cheekbone, an ear, his chin, and then over his throat. He can feel his abdomen move with every breath he takes and it hitches.

She waits until it calms before she continues. Slowly. Carefully. He sets his hands to her hips, tucking her legs on either side of him. He'll keep his hands there so as to not dig his nails into his palms. Their eyes meet and fix, even as she lowers her head. Soft, damp hair slides across his skin and he almost moans, but he doesn't look away. They keep looking, even as her lips brush over where his heart is and then she lavishes a kiss there, tongue swirling and pressing.

It's where it has hurt the most. Between tight shoulders, clenched teeth and fists, and an aching heart, it's the last thing that he's always had trouble with. It hurt when he was beat up. It hurt when he was side looked. It hurt when the person he loved the most yelled at him. It hurt when his loneliness and uselessness overpowered everything and yes, he was trying his best, but he was tired.

And now?

It doesn't hurt now.

She carved out hurt and put in something else, something of hers. Every kiss, every stroke, it seems to burn and then fade to warmth. He reciprocates by combing out her hair even though his falls in his eyes, but it's not like he can't see because she goes slowly enough that he can follow her movements. It doesn't exactly imitate what he did earlier with her, but she does caress his sides with the flats of her hands, over and over until he grabs her sleeves to kiss her. If they kiss, it heightens everything, but more importantly, he can feel each flex and loosening of her muscles, and how he can make her lose her rhythm.

However, it's him who has to struggle against awkward sounds and jerking reactions when she all but constrains his legs because his knees are stuck in his trousers and there is someone else who is not him that is touching him. He has to force himself not to squeeze her too hard and break her skin, to not yank her hair. He's probably mutilating grass and fabric and dirt in his fingers as he turns his head and there's a cramp in his left foot, but he can't help it. The sensitive parts of him are hers and it's not simply a physical thing. She…she…

Honestly, she has his heart in her hands. If he has to put it into one sentence, that's the one.

He is capable of breaking her spine with just one hand, suffocating her, even slicing her up. But she is able to crush his heart and fling words at him, or walk away uncaring.

Who actually has the upper hand here?

It takes an effort for him to look at her again, and he finds her expression matches his. Does either of them actually know what they're doing? Not exactly. Are they going to stop? No. When she shifts her body, the lines of her body move smoothly, in contrast to his sharp movements. When he reaches up to trace her cheek, her skin holds the same heat, the same fervour.

His throat is dry, but it stopped hurting and even his illness seems very far away as she splays her hands over his face, as light as the rain that still fell upon them. Even the harder droplets that fell didn't really bother him anymore. With arms that feel like they've lost half their strength, he pushes himself up. Bark scratches at his back and leaves stick everywhere; one falls in his face and he flicks it away, not taking his eyes off her.

It's ridiculous how much he loves her. How much he can taste it. It sends shudders through his body and squeezes his heart, ties his tongue and wrecks his agility. She's been there for him, helped him.

He didn't ask for someone to heal him.

She didn't try.

If fate is cruel, it can also play another hand, and it gave him something better than a cure.

"Chizuru." Her name tastes like her. Like hope. Like love. It knocks something loose and he seizes her, because this is just a little too slow and the slower it is, the more he thinks.

He doesn't want to think right now.

They're outside and it's still raining and if anyone saw them, they'd probably get judged. He doesn't fucking care. She fits wonderfully in his lap, head on his shoulder while their legs splay out. It's harder to kiss like this, but in return, her back and shoulders are right up against him—no space at all between them. His arms are around her waist, her hands crossed over his wrists.

"Is this…all right?" Even now, he asks.

"Hai." The word is breathed out, rather then spoken.

Souji arches his back and rolls his hips; she grips him tighter and her head digs into the crook of his shoulder. Every gasp, shudder, and sigh sets him to biting his tongue and straining his shoulders until he can't take it anymore and he sets the pace a little faster. They probably could've done this a better way, but he wants to hold her like this, for it feels like she becomes a part of him when their positions are exactly the same. He compensates for the awkwardness by keeping his hands occupied until she writhes against him and her hair is impossibly tangled while the back of her skull knocks against his clavicle. When her knuckles brush against his chin, he takes her hand.

She's right there when finds himself pushed over the edge; he bends and harshly pants her name, their fingers locked as he finds her mouth in a messy upside-down kiss because he wants her to feel just how she made him feel. And he there to stroke her sides when she stiffens, legs pressed to his and shoulders carving, until she returns and collapses into him.

They're both here, for each other. In the beginning, the middle, the aftermath.

He now feels the sting of the tree bark, but knows it'll fade instantly, thanks to rasetsu healing. Although, he hopes to get rid of that soon. For her, as well. She still lies against him and he can feel her taking deep breaths.

"…I didn't hurt you, did I?" Sometimes, it's a little hard to read pain and pleasure, especially when reaching an end, and both touch nerves and force sounds out of you.

She shakes her head, strands of her hair rubbing into his skin. "No, I'm all right. I said I would tell you to stop if I didn't like it." She twists her body and he regrets some loss in contact, but he's rewarded with her glowing eyes and flushed cheeks.

No confirmation needed.

Chizuru liked that as much as he did.

He should make a joke, poke fun at her appearance, but he's a little drained. Maybe for the better. He stopped thinking thoughts that usually led too deep.

So it's unexpected when she smiles at him and plucks leaves and twigs out of his hair. Somewhere, they probably pissed off a tree deity and this is what he gets. Their first time together, and nature built a nest in his hair.

"The rain will wash it out," he says as he shakes his head. At least no bugs crawled in.

"Will it? It stopped."

"…" Oh, she's right. It did. When? He didn't even notice. The sky is still grey and everything is damp, but now the silence is deafening after the sound of water.

"Then I'll wash it out. Later." Right now, he actually needs to see if there's anything dry between the two of them. With some effort, he leans over (he's not relinquishing her just yet) to sift through his things—

Dry socks.

Literally, that was it, the only other clothing he has.

He didn't really think this journey through, did he? A seething anger set him on this journey, and later it was replaced by a need to see things through with Chizuru and her family. They didn't really exactly pack much…

And so, all he has are socks. "I should've let you pack my things after all…"

Chizuru leans against him and laughs, the action echoing against his frame. "I think I might have another blanket…maybe a towel." She mimics his actions of leaning over and searching and comes up with the latter. Immediately she places it over his head and rubs.

"Ne, you should—"

"I told you before you'd get sick with wet hair!"

He grumbles something like "what about you" before he allows her to have her way with his hair. Thankfully it's not humid here, meaning things will dry faster. It's nothing like Kyoto's humidity that made you feel like you were swimming in your own heat and sweat.

"So what about your hair?"

Chizuru shrugs a shoulder. "Oh, I'll dry it later. After you."

Well, just because she's drying his hair doesn't mean he can't thread his fingers through it. Combing will dry it too. He likes its softness, how it felt against him, and the feeling of long, silky strands when he pulls his hands down.

"…Souji."

"Mm?"

"I'll fall asleep if you keep doing that…"

"You can fall asleep." He could sleep, too. "I'll keep you warm." His fingers rest against her neck, midway through her hair again.

She opens her mouth to say something, but shuts it when she looks down, as if suddenly remembering their state. And then she drags her wet kimono over herself, face scarlet. "Please stop looking at me."

"Heh~? Really? You want me to stop looking at you?"

"Yes—no…I…" She covers her face. "I don't know…"

"Well, even if you don't, I still want to touch you." Her hair, he decides, ought to never be put up so that he can find excuses to run his fingers through it. Plus, that ponytail she wore made her look younger. With her hair down, it framed her face and slipped against her shoulders, pooling down her back. It made her eyes brighter—or is that simply the results of today. Whatever his reasons, he gently tugs at her hands until she puts them down. "That all right with you?"

"Y-yes."

"You're free to do the same, you know." He tugs on her earlobe, which is also pinker than usual.

She's so dear to him, his to love, his to protect, his to appreciate—

"Chizuru." He says her name, like he would of a deity. "Thank you."

That's not enough, not even close. But his word of thanks is for innumerable things, moments, and words that she has shared with him.

"You're welcome." And to see her smile, when he says thank you, it makes him want to kiss her all over again.

Embarrassment more or less forgotten, she allows him to draw her in once again, head on his shoulder. He reaches down to tug her kimono over her curled feet, and then he drags his jacket over his shoulders. Good enough for now; it's still afternoon. They'd be fine.

He'd be fine.

Not perfectly so, but this sense that he attained the best thing possible, the love he needed—it's now his.

Could he ask for more?

Tomorrow, they'd have to do more than sit under a tree. They'll have to figure so many things out, things he never had to consider before. But he can face it, with her hand in his. His hands, which have held a sword for so long they almost forgot how to hold another person, until she offered her hand and he had taken it.

When he glances down to tell her something about this, he finds she really has gone to sleep. The past few days have been rough. She took it well, better than he did. Never let it said that gentleness and acceptance is weakness.

Souji shifts her so that she's more comfortable and so that her arm won't go numb when she wakes up. He leans his head back; if not for fear of waking her up, he'd laugh. Not the laughter he gives his enemies (nothing frightens them more), nor is it the sarcastic bitter chuckles. Just honest, happy relief. He knows this isn't the end of his problems. There's probably so many more things that dig at his mind, things that he didn't know about himself that would disgust people. Things that even disgusted himself.

She'll be there, when he has to figure it out again.

That is all he will need.

**_.end._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  Wakatteru? – do you understand? I used it because in my opinion, that word always carried a desperate tone, compared to "Wakarimashita?" I don't know how to explain it; some words have more force than others, even in English. Like you stare at a thesaurus and try to pick the right one. Don't trust me on my Japanese though; I only studied one semester formally; the rest is me half-heartedly memorising on my own and going by what I know from speaking two languages imperfectly.
> 
> **Final Notes:**  
>  (Not too many, I wrote most of them in the beginning). Some characters you can write and they'll flow naturally. For me, that's Saitou. Others, they take more time because it's even their fault that they're more complicated; every character is different after all. And that's Souji. I get him, but his thoughts--that's the hard part. I once said to someone that Saitou thinks in bullet points, but Souji goes everywhere with his thoughts. And he goes far. He used to analysing himself and knowing himself, but sometimes the most self-aware person misses obvious things. Because the more you know yourself, the more you risk judging yourself and your thoughts, actions, of questions of "why did I do that," "why didn't I do that." It's a vicious cycle.
> 
>  
> 
> I tried my best, honestly. Thank goodness for Reimeiroku where there were parts in his POV. And gods, those were dark and haunting. For all his confidence, his confidence is wrapped up in what Kondou (and Hijikata) thinks of him. This is why in the anime he goes and fights to the end. Chizuru offered him something else. Yes, you can be independent and it'll good. But it's not a bad thing to fall in love, either.
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, thanks for reading/comments/kudos/everything else :)


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